September, October, November, December... when I was a child and adolescent, after the lazy hot days of summer, spent filling the tank with sunlight and fresh air and clean water, the autumn was always a time of new beginnings, of excitement, and energy. Our scout troop camped three times a year, and the autumn one was often the most exciting. I liked the crisp, cool air, the pleasures of warm fireplaces after walks outside, the colours of the turning leaves, the feel of new school clothes, the pleasure of new books and school supplies, of getting to know my new teacher. I enjoyed the sharp initial leaps of progress in new subjects, as I quickly tackled them and frequently worked ahead with enthusiasm...
This energy also was obvious in university where my fall term marks were regularly ten points higher than my spring ones. My birthday is in the fall, as is Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving, and these are followed by then the lead-up to Christmas and New Year's Eve, filled with sports activities, concerts, plays, and festivals.
All that activity is wonderful but also quite draining... somehow for me the long grey cold winter that followed these autumn months would pull all the liveliness and energy out of me so that I would often be running on empty by the time spring finally rolled around.
Now that I pursue a singing career my adult life follows a similar pattern of September-to-May work, with relatively quiet periods in the summer, barring the odd summer opera festival gig. Being married to a teacher makes this work rather well for us; the fact that I am usually working around Christmas and Easter holidays is counterbalanced by the long summer.
I need that time. As I get older and more mature in my technique I find myself giving more and more of myself to the emotional part of singing... The profession involves so much giving that without some quiet to re-fill the tank I would be unable to continue. It's one thing that I never realized when I was starting out; that emotional and dramatic energy isn't just created out of nowhere, there is a finite limit to how much energy you have to spend, and striving to reach new heights of expression for yourself and your colleagues means that there are also concomitant lows that will follow, and everyone needs to figure out how to manage that themselves.
It helps to have rewarding artistic work to focus upon. It's a cliché that actors and singers are always looking for work, but that's because without it they can lose momentum and get discouraged. One lucky thing here in Belgium is that the Easter Passion season is probably the busiest time of the year, so full of concert possibilities that there isn't enough time on my schedule to say yes to all of them. That means that I don't really have time to get "blue", but am vitalized and energized by the excitement of getting to know new conductors and colleagues, putting on costumes or fancy clothes, and throwing my energy into the musical challenges of the pieces. It also helps that the spring here in Brussels can start earlier than it does in Ontario, and it lasts a long time. The city is filled with flowering trees and lush gardens, which helps to lift my spirits.
Right now a lot of my time is being taken up as artistic director of a Remembrance Day project scheduled for this November 11th here in Brussels. St. Andrew's Scottish Presbyterian Church was built as a memorial church following the First World War, and so I was asked to plan a concert on this year, the centenary of the commencement of the war. Fortunately there are many talented people who will be involved, so my own vocal contributions will be modest; I will sing a Bach aria with organ and a Massenet song with piano, and both with 'cello obligato, and will reprise the Oskar Morawetz Grenadier piece that Dina Namer and I performed three times this past spring in Canada. As well we will excerpt the Libera me from the Fauré Requiem with choir, organ and 'cello. We will have a number of choral pieces, some a capella, some accompanied by organ; we have two accompanists participating, and a 'cellist, and there will be two other vocal solists, a tenor and a soprano, presenting works on the theme of war and remembrance, and some solo piano music, and a hymn or two.
A big part of the project is selecting the readings... I have found a good bible passage, and a choir member has researched some good Scottish war poetry, but there are other items that I would like to include. The letters sent to and from the trenches during the war fascinate me as primary source material. I've ordered a book on the topic called Love letters of the Great War that arrived in the post this morning, and I hope to find something appropriate to give to a strong reader from the congregation to present. Ideally, along with the texts written by the soldiers, I would also like to have a letter from home, perhaps in a young person's voice, or a woman's voice; the immense sacrifice touched more than just the soldiers who died, and I hope to share a variety of perspectives.
The Imperial War Museum has licenced the use of a painting I found by Sir William Orpen, a war artist; his A highlander passing a grave from 1917 will be the basis for our publicity poster. Maggie and I saw some of Orpen's work in Tate Britain this summer and I made note of him, and searched their image archive until I found this painting shown above.
What else? Besides resuming my daily singing practice I have enrolled in piano classes, and the family has been "treated" to my daily practicing of Bach, starting with the easy pieces in Anna Magdalena Bach's little book for the clavecin. Here's a rather pleasant Youtube recording of the book complete.
And Duncan and I have been going to the bagpipe group on Monday nights at the Church. I am not really sure if he will continue but I am finding it interesting. My childhood neighbours the Davis boys all played the pipes, as did Henry Muth, a highschool friend, so I am happy to revisit them a bit.
Last week Malcolm and I went to see The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari at the BOZAR, in its newly restored version that debuted in Berlin this past year. The Brussels Philharmonic played the score, adapted and conducted by Timothy Brock. Wow. Talk about an amazing film... released in 1920, it uses the "frame story" method, by which is meant that the film opens with a scene, and then the story is told via flashback. It is a masterpiece of expressionist cinema, and is widely regarded as the first real horror movie. It was great both sonically and visually... If you want to watch the pre-restoration version with English cards, you can see it for yourself by clicking the link here.
We've been doing a lot of clearing out of things that we no longer need; last weekend was the brocante or street sale in our neighbourhood. Being a brocanteur is a serious business in Belgium; the organizing committee no longer charges a licence to set up your tarp and tables but you have to put up a paper sign two days before the sale day, and then you must occupy your spot by 7am, otherwise others will swoop in and take it. We were lucky to have good weather, and Duncan sold his unwanted toys to the tune of about 75 euros. Maggie and I also sold quite a lot of unwanted items. Some of the rest we have put up on ebay, and others will be donated to the jumble sale at the church next month or given to Oxfam.
Okay, that's all for now. Happy end-of-September! October will be an exciting month for us, with Maggie's birthday, my two performances of the Creation at the Conservatory, and then a trip back to Canada for Maggie to visit with her parents during the week-long holiday of Toussaint.
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